The Reflective Surface of Your Eyes
by Electric Reader
Summary: Hermione Granger was the brightest with of her day and age. Or so she'd heard.


_**The Reflective Surface of Your Eyes**_

**Chapter 1: Symphony of Sighs**

_(Author's note: It's been quite a while since I've written on fanfiction. But I've decided to give it one more go. I know this chapter is quite long, but that's only because I'm setting the story. The other chapters won't be so monstrously long or melancholy. Anyway! Read and Review please!)_

_**Atychiphobia –Fear of Failure**_

Hermione Granger was smart. She was a glowing candle of intellect. She was the flame to which thousands of years later, young, unassuming girls would look back on and be illuminated. She was the mind of the century. The jewel of decade. The diamond of the year. Succinctly put, Hermione Granger was the brightest witch of her day and age.

Or so she'd heard.

For the most part, Hermione didn't _feel _smart. Oh she knew she was smart; she had the grades to prove it after all. But she just didn't_ feel_ it. She didn't feel brilliant. She didn't feel like she was much good at anything really. Except sighing on Friday nights. It was routine. She'd stay in The Ministry late every Friday night, going through case files, contemplating her life and sighing.

She picked up a file. She assumed it was orange once, but the colour had faded into this coppery shade of gloom that professed that the file had seen better days. She brushed the dust of it with her gloved hands and opened the first page.

Name: Tania Stevens

Age: 28

Year: 6th March 1997

Case: ….

And Hermione begun to read. There were a lot of files like this with unsolved cases that were packed in The Ministry's file room because, well, compared to Tania Stevens case of her mysteriously disappearing neighbours and a case of a megalomaniac wizard trying to destroy the world…. Voldermort kind of took the cup. It wasn't that she _had_ to read these files. It was just that she had nothing better to do. And so she would go through past ministry files on her Friday nights and decided which one she would try to solve as her pro bono investigation of the month. Kingsley loved her for it. He said their file room was getting less and less messy with her around. He was so grateful, in fact, that he offered to make her Head Auror but Hermione declined. She was too much of a mess to be Head Auror. She didn't say that though, she simply thanked Kingsley and said that she was much too young to do a good job. Kingsley had replied, "Nonsense! You're perfect!" but he didn't press her. Hermione was glad. Of all the things she knew she felt, she was pretty sure perfect wasn't one of them. She sighed.

She supposed she hadn't always been such a mess though. She often wondered if this was how it felt to be a teenager. That since she was never much of a teenager when she had the chance, now that she was all grown up, her stupid hormones decided to sneak up on her like: _Boom! Surprise! You're pathetic._

Objectively speaking, she supposed she had been a teenager. She went through the entire emotional whirlwind of being in love with Ron for half her life. But other than that….? Not much. No tantrums, no crazy boyfriends, no rebellions and –she was become more and more grateful for this everyday- no angsty teenage hormonal imbalances. She had too much of the latter in her life right now.

The War had ended and everything was a mess at first. No one knew where they had to be; everything about the world that had been changing slowly, just over turned over night. Voldemort was dead, and they were the generation that had to start living again. The first thing Hermione decided was that she was going to find her parents and undo the memory spell. That didn't go so well. Her parents recovered. Not completely, but they were well enough. Some days they had memory lapses. Some days they were just confused. Some days they had pounding headaches. Some days their brains didn't work they usually did and both of them had outstanding cases of out of character behaviour. But for the most part they were fine. They were thinking. That was something right? Hermione tried to tell herself this, but it didn't help. She was the reason why they were like that. There was no way you could create a memory spell for that long without side effects. Hermione told them she was sorry, she told them she was just trying to protect them, she told them she was sorry again and they forgave her. Or at least they logically knew that they were supposed to forgive her and they tried to. But their relationship wasn't the same. It was stilted and awkward and completely lacked the ease with which they used to interact with before. They were all trying just too damn hard for it to ever be normal.

The second thing Hermione decided was that she'd help rebuild Hogwarts. Hogwarts was her home damn it. And she might have lost her parents, but she wasn't going to lose her home. And so she was there every day with Ron and Harry and magic. Those days were the best and the worst. They cried a lot those days, but then they got to pound rocks, and be part of a process that would make something beautiful again. Hermione wasn't sure, but it felt like in the process of putting back together those rocks, they were also putting themselves back together. At least their basic selves. Hogwarts would need time to heal properly, but it wasn't completely broken anymore.

She came back to finish 7th year after the rebuilding was finished. And the professors called it The Eighth Year. It was a token year really, everyone knew that they would all graduate. Harry and Ron groaned and complained but they came back with her. And Hogwarts was… well it was simply Hogwarts. She became reacquainted with the library and Homesgade and her dormitory. She had her fill of Hogwarts food and the prefect's bathroom, which she had missed terribly. She learned new secret passageways. She became Head Girl. She graduated with all Os.

The next year Hermione, Ron and Harry all applied to be aurors. They were accepted of course. Harry bought Hermione a shirt saying, "The Future Minister of Magic" and Ron bought Harry and Himself shirts saying "And Her Two Fools". Harry clearly hadn't been in on this part of the plan and kept on asking Ron where –just _where - _he got this muggle shirts from and –_merlin-_ what if they had lice. And how in the world do you even know what a T-shirt is, Ron? And my Harry, probably the same way I wonder why you get mobbed by women with eyes. And Hermione was laughing so hard, and she was just so, so, so happy, she thought she would burst.

Ministry work was boring though. It was just that they were so many aurors and such little crime. I mean, it had been only two years since they had killed The Great and Dark Lord; in the face of emerging Harry Potter, crime didn't seem so eager to get back to its previous levels. Besides, nearly all the Death Eaters had been sent to Askaban. Harry and Ron then decided to become half-time aurors and half-time Quidditch players. And almost everyone had a half-time job to go to. Everyone except her, that is. It was the first time Hermione had felt useless. It was also the first time she had ever been alone. It was an enlightening time for Hermione. She had together, all too much time to be contemplative. And the more she examined herself, the less enamoured she became. It seemed the only thing she was good for really, was a desk at Hogwarts and a bloody exam. And even then, it wasn't that she was spectacular. It was just that she read; she read more than anyone she knew. If Gregory Goyle read as much as she did, he'd probably also manage to finagle the title for "brightest wizard of the age". Anyone would be able to do it. And then, it struck Hermione, quite suddenly and thoroughly that she was ordinary. Up until then, she had never really thought so. Up until then, she was the brightest witch of her day and age, she was part of The Golden Trio, she had helped bring down Voldemort. But Ron and Harry and left. And Voldemort was dead. And Hermione was just Hermione now. Completely, unremarkably, ordinary.

And two and a half years down the line, she had realized, with startling clarity, that for her, Hermione Granger Witch Extraordinaire, mediocrity was a slow descent into madness.

-x-

Draco had given up counting the number of times Granger had sighed that evening. Really, he ought to be used to it by now but her sighing was like the screech of chalk on a dry blackboard. It made Draco want to grit his teeth in frustration and then knock her unconscious. Considering his past though, his lack of impulse control hadn't really gotten him anywhere. Well, anywhere except a dusty file room with a maudlin Hermione Granger for company. Draco sneaked a look at her from across the room. She was actually reading a file now, instead of staring into the distance with that sad, world-weary, look on her face. Honestly, did they train girls to look this way? _I'm just so sad on the inside, and my brown curls keep escaping the bun on my hair just so, and my lips part with all the melancholy in the world as I sigh, and my long, lovely eyelashes look downwards as I contemplate the tragedies of my life…. Dear only other man in the corner of this room, I know I keep sighing every five seconds, but please, don't mind me…_

The funny thing though, was that Draco didn't think Hermione was purposely trying to get him to don on a superhero cape and slither into her mind to slay all her demons for her… He just thought she forgot he was in the room. She tended to do that. A lot. And if Draco still had any manly pride left within him, then working for Hermione these past two years would have weathered it down to dust.

The worst part of all this was, Draco didn't _want_ to know Hermione Granger. He didn't want to know how that when she looked that way she had forgotten he was in the room. He didn't want to know that when she read something she didn't agree with, she bit her lip and frowned. He didn't want to know, that every morning she took her coffee with milk and one sugar. He didn't want to know how she blinked when she was confused, he didn't want to know how she held her pen, he didn't want to know she was sad and lonely. But he did. Two years of working with a person tends to do that. God help him.

It wasn't as if he and Hermione were best friends. Far from it. It was just that they'd gotten used to working together. He had been assigned to her and so naturally, they had to work together. Sometimes they even talked. Skies have fallen down over lesser things. Whatever the case, he spent too much time in her company for him _not_ to notice. What to do then, except bear it? There were worse habits after all. Looking at her now though, it suddenly seemed worse than before. It seemed like that string of hope or whatever she'd been holding onto had been eaten by a random goat. She just didn't look sad today. She looked like she'd given up. And Draco didn't know why, but that made him exceedingly uncomfortable.

If he was being completely honest though, Draco had noticed Hermione the first moment he saw her. Technically, that goes without saying. But when he started noticing her, he didn't stop. Noticing her became a way of life. And he wasn't in love with her. Merlin help him if that ever happened. He just noticed her. It wasn't a big thing. She wasn't a billboard in his life. She was a notice. Just a notice.

Draco remembered the first time he walked into the ministry. His hands were sweatier than they'd ever been in his life. He remembered his father telling him once that Malfoy's were cold-blooded. It was nice to prove him wrong, for once. He'd walked behind Kingsley with his heart pounding like it was the end of the world. Draco had always been a coward. But he'd always been a coward with a back-up plan. But his back-up plan was in Askaban. And his mother was under house arrest. And all Malfoy funds were seized by the ministry except this measly pittance they gave them monthly. There was nothing for it, he had to work. So he worked, the oddest jobs he could find, and became an economist by necessity. It was too different and too difficult from the life he was used to. But having everything taken away from you has a way of putting things into perspective. And so Draco soldiered on.

Then, on one of the Ministry's mandatory checks on his mother –really, what could she possibly do?- Kingsley himself had appeared.

Then calm as day, he'd asked, "How about a job in the ministry, boy?"

Draco looked up sharply, "A job, sir?"

Kingsley nodded, "Well yes. Trying to repair broken bones and all that. You're a bright boy aren't you? How about you come and be an auror?"

He said all this in a rush. Like he couldn't believe he was offering it. Draco couldn't believe it either. "If you don't mind me asking," he hedged, "but why me, sir?"

Kingsley rubbed his chin, "Well, you're hardly likely to cause any harm."

Draco tried not to be offended but honestly, who else could possibly fail at being a Death Eater apart from him? He kept all expression off his face when he answered and then one week later, he was being lead down a hallway of doom. It was one of the most unreceptive introductions he ever had the misfortune of being a victim of. The entire Auror Department was stone-faced. They probably thought they would lose their jobs if they showed any sort of expression. The only person who had any sort of emotion on her face was Granger. She was still Granger then. He hadn't yet started thinking of her as Hermione. Granger was talking to Potter gesticulating as if the world was about to end and Potter bore it sombre faced like he was preparing himself to die. Draco nearly smiled right then and there. It was the most familiar thing he'd seen since entering this bedevilled ministry. Hermione Granger consumed with her fierce self-righteousness while Saint Potter placated her and the Weasel pretended not to be part of the conversation while cringing at everything that was being said. Kingsley cleared his throat. The Golden Trio turned as one and looked at him. Clearly they were the only ones in the department who were surprised.

Draco watched them watch him. He wondered what they saw. He wondered what they thought. He'd bullied them for the better part of their entire school life and now they could probably get him kicked out of the only decent paying job of his life. It was humbling. And terrifying. Ah, that was another thing. He hadn't become any less cowardly growing up, he supposed. But he had a healthy and prosperous relationship with fear now. They'd become acquainted on deeper levels as time passed. He knew fear like the back of his hand and he felt it slither down his finger tips to coil around his belly like a possessive, suffocating lover. Draco had a wealth of facial expressions when he was young. All of them serpentine; he could be snide, smug, he could sneer, smirk; he could look down his nose at a human being, he could make people feel like dirt but as he looked at The Golden Trio, his face was a canvas; utterly, utterly blank.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Well…" he begun. "Since most of the Aurors have become part time protectors of the realm…" He chuckled. "I've begun to look for a few young and permanent replacements."

"You must be joking." Draco knew that voice. He suppressed a sigh.

"No Mr. Weasley. The Dark Lord has been dead for three years. I think we must learn how to clean old wounds. Draco is a smart, young man and will be a fine addition to this department. Mr. Potter himself, testified on his behalf and I am certain that he shall not go murdering innocent citizens or organizing midnight raids. Plus, the auror department is getting smaller. I'm sure you understand."

Weasley snorted. "I understand that you're assuring The Wizarding World with the protection of a Death Eater Minister. They are bound to feel _**so**_ much safer as the go to their beds at night."

A few people chuckled at that. Kingsley glowered.

"Oh stuff it Ron." This time it was Granger. She looked angry. Not on his behalf, but angry at something else Potter and Ron had done. Draco was proved right when Ron didn't say anything except, "But 'mione-"

"But nothing!" she hissed. Then as if remembering she was supposed to be talking about him, she said, "It's just Malfoy honestly. Come along Malfoy, you'll be working for me." And then she spun out of the room and Malfoy had no choice but to follow her.

They entered her office and Granger shut the door. After she shut it, she leaned against it and sighed. It was the first time he had ever heard her sigh. It would not be the last.

Draco took time to look around the room while she was calming herself. It wasn't a big office, but it _was_ an office which Draco assumed was some kind of an honour since she was only twenty two. The room was decorated in a typical pragmatic Granger fashion. She has a desk and a comfortable looking chair –the only luxury he could see- towards the end of the room. A filing cabinet sat to the right of the desk and chair. She had a simply decorated carpet on the floor and two chairs opposite her desk. There was no art. There were no excesses. It was one of the simplest offices he'd seen. The only decorative piece he could see was a photo of her with Potter and Weasley. They seemed to be wearing matching T-shirts. They posed for the camera in an elaborate fashion and then the Weasel said something and the three of them burst out laughing.

"If you're done staring," Hermione said dryly.

Draco looked up at her and saw her watching him. It was then, that he _noticed_ her. Or more specifically, he noticed the way she was looking at him. She looked at him, the same way she looked at him when he was at Hogwarts. Like he was that same, annoying, little boy who'd scream for his father if she offended him. She looked at him like she knew him; like even though years had passed, he was still _"just Malfoy" _and that's what he'd always be despite his faults, despite his sins, despite time. That look, more than anything eased whatever nervousness he felt at coming here. He was so glad to be recognized, even for a second, by someone else because he truly had no idea who he was anymore. But she looked at him, the same way she always looked at him. She was exasperated and irritated, but she hadn't judged him. For the first time in a long time, there was someone who looked at him as if he hadn't already been condemned.

"Of course," he replied quietly.

Hermione looked unsettled. Like he'd just said something she didn't expect. They continued to look at each other, saying nothing. Hermione adjusted her collar and swept falling strands from her face. Draco shifted from foot to foot awaiting instructions. He looked up, and their eyes met, they both looked away. In a bid of desperation he said, "Nice photo," and gestured towards her desk.

She gestured for him to sit and proceeded to sit opposite him on her comfortable looking chair. She picked up the photo and looked at it, "It is, isn't it?" then she gave him a sad smile. "They're leaving tomorrow," she said suddenly. "To play Quidditch. They just told me. Apparently they thought I was going to protest or something."

Draco couldn't help it, he gave her a look. She glowered back at him. "And so what if I was going to protest?" she continued heatedly. "They're my best friends! I have a _right_ to protest. I'm liable to do anything I want around them! They just can't decide to become part time aurors and part time Quidditch players without my permission! I'd see them half the time! Half the time Malfoy!"

Draco gave her another look. Granger threw up her hands in exasperation. "That's it! You're fired!"

Draco laughed. It was such a strange sensation. Remembering it now, Draco realized, at the time, he hadn't laughed in ages but Hermione had made him laugh. Call it the strange sense of honour he'd developed as they'd worked together, but he wanted to return the favour. He wanted her to stop looking the way she did now.

"Granger," he called. His voice sounded like an unwanted intruder barrelling into the fortress of silence they'd built around themselves.

Hermione looked up at him, as if surprised he was still there. Typical. "Yes?" she answered distractedly.

Draco had no idea what he was going to say. Why had he even called her? It wasn't like he could start with, _"I want to make you smile, because you taught me how to smile."_ It was nauseatingly romantic. And the last thing he wanted in his life, was romance. Instead he said the first thing that came to his mind, "I'm going on leave in a week you know."

She frowned, "I know Malfoy, I signed the papers for you."

"Right," he said stupidly. "I'm going to my grandmother's for leave this year. Actually, I go every year. It's the best place you could think of to take a break."

Hermione blinked. "Good for you, Malfoy."

"Right. The thing is Granger, you need a break."

Hermione's eyes widened, _"What?"_

Draco threw self-preservation to the winds. "You need a break," he repeated. "You come here every Friday and subject me to an entire symphony of sighs. It's completely distracting. Not to mention, my ears are also sufferers. You're tired and sad and lonely and you need a break."

"For your information Malfoy-!"

Draco didn't let her finish, he just ploughed on, the words coming out of his mouth without thought or plan. "You've never taken a single day of leave since you came to work here. Take one now. Come with me to France."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he wished he could take them back. Hermione's jaw had dropped.

Damn. He should have just asked her for a bloody smile.


End file.
